“Of course he would,” agreed Grant Andrews. “But what is the meaning of
all this?”

“Oh, there’s some queer, hocus-pocus business on foot,” muttered Hal,
bitterly. “But I don’t believe Jack feels much like telling us anything
about it at present.”

In truth, Jack didn’t seem inclined to conversation. He was too sore and
dazed to feel like talking. He couldn’t collect his ideas clearly. The
most that he actually knew was that the pain in his head was tormenting.

“I’ll pick him right up in my arms and carry him,” proposed Andrews. “I’ll
take him to Mr. Farnum’s office. Then I’ll get a doctor. We don’t want
much noise about this, or folks will be telling all sorts of yarns against
Jack Benson and his drinking habits, when the truth is he’s about the
finest, steadiest young fellow alive!”

Just as Andrews was about to carry his purpose into action, however, an
automobile turned the nearest corner and came swiftly toward them. In
another instant it stopped alongside. It contained Mr. Farnum and his
chauffeur, besides three naval officers.

“What’s wrong, Andrews?” called the yard’s owner. “Why, that’s Jack
Benson! What has happened to him?”

Hal and Eph stood supporting their comrade, almost holding him, in fact.
Jacob Farnum leaped from his automobile. Lieutenant Commander Mayhew
followed him.